


Unlikely Saviours

by ms_katonic



Series: Glory to the Forsworn [7]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Fluff, Forsworn, M/M, Romance, Skyrim Kink Meme, Slash, Thalmor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 01:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2409659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_katonic/pseuds/ms_katonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A favour Ondolemar didn't fully realise he'd performed turns out to save his life when the Stormcloaks come for the Reach. Little does he know that one of his saviours isn't just saving him from the Nords but from himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heretics of a Different Stamp

**Author's Note:**

> So anyway I wrote this ages ago for a kink meme prompt and never posted it anywhere else. It still isn't finished. But I feel it deserves a wider audience.

Another evening in Markarth. Another day of fruitlessly hunting for Talos-worshippers. Elenwen had assured him this city was likely full of them. Maybe she was right. But either the Thalmor were having a powerful deterrent effect, or they were very good at hiding. The Dragonborn had helped – his fellow countrywoman Liriel had been only too pleased to retrieve Onmund's amulet for him on her first visit to the city. But the Jarl had waved it away, saying he could have got that amulet anywhere, and Onmund had got better at covering his tracks. Even worse, Liriel had gone up in the world now, becoming wealthy somehow and becoming Thane even, and no longer willing to take Thalmor gold. 

But it seemed Ondolemar's luck was changing. He'd had a dinner invitation from Nepos the Nose. The man was known to be very influential, particularly among the natives of the Reach. Maybe he'd be able to help.

“So, Mr, er, Nepos,” Ondolemar said as he sat down at the table in the man's house, having been shown in by the nice young woman with strikingly Altmer-esque yellow eyes and silver hair – if his taste ran to women, he'd have looked twice but as it was, he'd always preferred males. And mer at that, although if he ran into a human male with that colouring – no. Ondolemar was one of Alinor's finest specimens and fine specimens of merkind did not dally with humans.

“Mr. Nepos!” the elderly Reachman laughed. “Oh my, that is so precious. Young man, you can just call me Nepos. I don't believe in standing on ceremony. Why don't you sit down, have a drink? We have wine, also ale or mead if your tastes run that way, and if you want something stronger and promise not to tell the Jarl, it is possible we may even have a little juniper liqueur stashed away.”

“Wine will be fine,” Ondolemar said quickly. He preferred not to drink on duty anyway, and he'd heard tales from Raerek about the natives of the Reach and the strange juniper-based liqueur the Reachmen were said to drink. A dangerously potent brew that lowered inhibitions and could easily lure the unwary into unwise decisions, it was also said to double up as a poison. The Jarl had of course banned the stuff years ago but it didn't surprise Ondolemar that it still circulated in private.

“So what is it you wanted to talk to me about?” he asked as he sipped his wine. “Do you know of any Talos-worshippers the Thalmor need to investigate?”

“Talos-worship?” Nepos laughed, exchanging knowing looks with his various servants. “Good heavens, you think anyone I associate with knows anything about Talos-worship? I'm very sorry, but I'm going to have to disappoint you. No Talos-worshippers in this house, young man.”

A disappointment in some ways but also a relief. It was nice not to have to look at every human in sight and wonder which of them were heretics.

“I see,” Ondolemar said. “So if it's not Thalmor business, why did you want to see me?”

“It's actually a personal matter,” Nepos said, smiling and looking a little embarrassed. “I was looking for information on Altmer courtship customs. No, no, not for myself, don't look so worried. However, I have this friend who is quite smitten by one of your people, driven quite to distraction by her in fact, except, well, he's managed to make a bit of a hash of courting her and now she won't speak to him. Personally, knowing him, I suspect it's got nothing to do with her being an Altmer and more to do with him being him, but he's insisted I find out everything I can on how Altmer court each other so he can work out where he went wrong. I was hoping you, as a particularly fine example of Altmer, might be able to help.”

“You have a friend, a human friend, who's trying to court an Altmer,” Ondolemar said, trying to get his head around this. Nepos nodded eagerly.

“That's right. Well, can you help? Anything to get him off my back.”

So Nepos and this human friend wanted to know where they'd gone wrong. Ondolemar had a fair idea, having seen the way these humans seemed to leap in and out of bed at the mere flash of an Amulet of Mara.

“I imagine his first mistake was in thinking he was going to succeed in courting one of us,” Ondolemar snorted. “Really, if she's a true-bred Altmer from any kind of good family, she wouldn't look twice at a human. We're not like you, we live for centuries. We don't need to breed as fast as we can in just a few decades just to keep our numbers stable. We stay fertile most of our lives until we reach old age, we have plenty of time to wait for a suitable mate to come along. We don't rush courtship, Nepos. Why on Nirn would we rush into marriage before we were sure?”

Nepos was nodding, a weary look in his eyes as things seemed to slot together for him. “I don't think she's the type to reject a human just for being human, but him rushing into things... well, that's entirely like him. Rushed into marriage the first time around because she was willing to listen to him ramble on about magic and politics and look how that turned out. That he's not learned from previous mistakes does not surprise me. So Altmer courtships usually last longer than human ones – what sort of time are we looking at here? Two years, three?”

“Years? _Years?_ ” Ondolemar laughed. Really, he pitied the poor inferior creatures and their brief lifespans sometimes. “Decades, usually. Thirty years is usually enough time, but it can take longer. Ten years to get to know each other, then if that goes well and the families don't object, we can start courting in earnest leading to a formal betrothal in another decade and it's only at that point we might actually turn to thoughts of bedding. Not necessarily full sex, you understand, but certainly a certain amount of kissing and touching in preparation. You see why doing all this with a human simply can't ever work – they're usually old and grey by that point, if they're not dead.”

The entire room seemed stunned into silence by this and Nepos appeared shocked speechless.

“Thirty years... and no sex until the wedding,” Nepos said faintly. “Oh sweet gods. No wonder she ran off.”

“Wait a second,” one of the young men interrupted. “If that's the case, does that mean all the unmarried Altmer out there have never, you know, done it? With anyone?”

“Morven!” the woman hissed but all the young natives of the Reach looked like they desperately wanted to know the answer to that one.

“In most cases, yes,” Ondolemar sniffed. “We're monogamous creatures, human. We're not prey to baser lusts like you people. No offence.”

Silence, and Ondolemar had the strange feeling they were all trying not to laugh.

“None taken,” Nepos said faintly. “Thank you, Ondolemar, you've been very helpful and answered my question in full. I don't suppose you have any books that might back this up? He's likely to be sceptical if it's just my word.”

“I think my guards have some romance novels that have this as a theme, and I've got a few cultural texts,” Ondolemar said, going over the contents of his library. “I can send you copies if you like.”

“That will be most helpful,” Nepos said agreeably. “Thank you, Ondolemar. I don't think it's what he'll want to hear and he certainly won't be expecting it, but he'll need to hear it.”

Ondolemar imagined that would probably be the case. He made a mental note to track down some of the most heartrending tales of Altmer-human love, a special little gift to convince this clearly deluded human of the utter impossibility of a human as any kind of suitable mate for one of the Aedra's own kin. Had he known who the human was, he might have reconsidered persuading the man of anything. Nepos's mysterious elf-smitten friend was not a man put off by impossible odds to put it mildly.

Had he known the fate lying in store for him, he'd have fled back to Alinor on the next boat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“What is the meaning of this?” Ondolemar demanded. He'd been accosted by two of Nepos's men and hauled off into the shadows, his guards only just keeping up. To his surprise, Nepos himself was there, looking grim.

“You're in very grave danger, Justiciar,” Nepos said quietly. “We just got word in. Some sort of peace conference between the Empire and Stormcloaks. They've agreed a truce. Temporary of course, but the terms aren't in your interests.”

A ceasefire of any kind wasn't in Thalmor interests and Ondolemar was surprised the Ambassador hadn't intervened, but he couldn't for the life of him think why Nepos was telling him all this.

“And this is my problem because?” Ondolemar sighed. Nepos's eyes hardened.

“They gave the Reach to Ulfric Stormcloak and his men. I'm uncertain enough of my own future, but since Thonar died, I'm the only one who knows anything about how the Silver-Blood businesses actually function. Gods know Thongvor has no idea, so I imagine I'm safe enough for now. You though – when they take over, I imagine it won't go well for you. They think they beat us down after the Markarth Incident, they won't bother purging us again. But you – your people defeated them, and you've been halting Talos-worship ever since. They're not going to just let a Justiciar walk free.”

“Let them,” Ondolemar found himself saying. “I'm not afraid of a bunch of barbarians.”

“Sir!” one of his guards hissed. “Sir, I've got family to think of...”

“There's a lot of Stormcloaks out there,” the other agreed. “We should get out of here.”

“And then what?” Ondolemar snapped. “What sort of message does that send if the Dominion's representatives run at the first sign of trouble? The Embassy must know about the treaty. They'll send orders.”

“Better hope those orders arrive soon,” Nepos said calmly. “My sources tell me the Stormcloaks just passed Lost Valley this afternoon and occupied Fort Sungard. They'll be here tomorrow. I doubt any Thalmor couriers are getting through once they have Markarth. It's nearly nightfall, you know. Go off-duty as usual, then meet me in the Hall of the Dead tonight. We can get you out of the city, no one need even know you've left until the Stormcloaks get here in the morning and find you're not here.”

It was a tempting thought, but Ondolemar remained suspicious.

“Why do this?” he demanded. “Why would you care about Thalmor lives? Most humans hate us.”

“I can't imagine why humans would generally despise a faction that thinks they're little better than livestock at best,” Nepos said, still using that calm and seemingly unperturbable voice. “However, you're better than most of them, Ondolemar. Somewhere in there is a decent elven being. It would be a shame to never see him emerge. Also you've been of great assistance to us, more than you realise. You helped us retain a valuable ally and you indirectly bought my oldest friend a few weeks of happiness. Of course, it looks like he's gone and thrown it all away, but I can't save him from himself.”

 _But perhaps I can save you._ The words went unspoken, and Ondolemar didn't say yes right away... but that didn't mean he hadn't heard them.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Several hours later, and Ondolemar had packed everything he owned and was standing awkwardly in the Hall of the Dead, his guards with him. This was ridiculous, fleeing from a bunch of humans like this, his Embassy would surely intervene... but it was nearly midnight, no orders had arrived and Ondolemar had given in after both his guards had had nervous breakdowns on him, claiming Elenwen had abandoned them.

Ondolemar was sure that wasn't the case, but how was he supposed to obey orders if he wasn't alive to receive them? No sense taking risks – they'd not been ordered to stay put after all. So here they were, hoping Nepos was around.

Out of the shadows, a young woman emerged. That maid of Nepos's, Uaile he thought her name was.

“So you decided to come after all. About time, I thought I was going to be here all night,” the Reachwoman smirked. “Come along. We don't have much time.”

She led them away to what turned out to be a secret tunnel, which seemed to lead out of the city.

“Plenty of these around but they're well-hidden,” Uaile explained. “We used them during the Markarth Incident to get out, or so my Da tells me. Well before my time, but Nepos knows them all.”

The Markarth Incident?? Ondolemar remembered that one. He'd wondered how the Forsworn High Command had managed to avoid death at Ulfric's hands. But that would mean...

“Here,” Uaile said, motioning for them to stop in the tunnel, unshouldering the pack she'd brought with her. “You're going to have to get changed. Into something that doesn't scream Thalmor. Not that this is a lot better, but where you're going, it'll help you fit in.”

The pack turned out to contain three sets of fur armour, if you could call it that. Ondolemar blanched to see it. He knew what it was, and in that instant he knew what she and by extension Nepos were.

“You're Forsworn,” he breathed, and behind him his guards cast mage armour and conjured swords.

“I'm a true Reachwoman,” Uaile said calmly, casting her own mage armour. “Of course I am, who else did you think had the resources to smuggle you out of the city unseen? The Silver-Bloods? The Legion? The Jarl?? Old gods, don't make me laugh.”

“I should kill you on sight,” Ondolemar snapped, but inside he was starting to panic. He'd read briefings on the Forsworn, the notoriously dangerous rebel fighters that held the Reach in their grasp. More than one Thalmor patrol had fallen victim to them, and anyone who wasn't a Breton was in danger. And just lately they'd got more active, especially since their leader had escaped from prison a few weeks back. Sweet Aedra, what was he being led into?? Was this some sort of trap?

“I wouldn't recommend it,” Uaile said grimly. “Not when we're your best hope of survival.”

“Best hope?” Ondolemar scoffed. “How do I know you're not planning to kill us all?”

“Kill you?” Uaile asked, eyebrow raised. “If we'd wanted you dead, it would have been easier to just leave you for the Stormcloaks.”

She had a point, but Ondolemar wasn't going to let down his guard just yet. And then another human voice rang out down the passageway, male this time, but clearly another Reachman.

“I do hope you've got a good reason for threatening my daughter.”

Slowly, Ondolemar lowered his hands, turning to see a small group of five Forsworn warriors, and at their head a human with the same hair and eye colouring Uaile had.

“Da!” Uaile laughed, lowering her hands and running to hug him. He smiled and returned the embrace, but his eyes didn't leave Ondolemar.

“Inyeen, you are aware you just left your back wide open to a potential hostile.”

“All this time and that's the first thing you say to me?” Uaile asked, pouting. “You could see him as could this lot. He'd not have got far. And he's not an enemy, Nepos wanted him saved.”

“Yes, but I'd have liked not to see you die in my arms,” the Forsworn said, patting her back. “I'm told seeing your child die is traumatic. It's enough I have to hear Braig and Himself going on about how the Nords killed their beloved younglings, I don't need to know firsthand.”

“Yes, Da. Sorry, Da,” Uaile said, looking a little bit abashed. “Er. This is Ondolemar. Nepos said to escort him out of the city and to a camp. Him and his guards.”

“I know, I received the orders too,” the Forsworn man said, looking Ondolemar up and down, and Ondolemar actually shivered a little. Something about the man's eyes unnerved him. Something in that smile... there was something wild about this one, something feral and Ondolemar definitely wasn't intrigued about it, oh no. Never mind the fact that seeing a man with those yellow elven eyes was doing strange things to him. This was a human and a barbarian Forsworn at that, despite the cultured tones. “Well now, Ondolemar. My daughter's given you a change of clothes. I suggest you and yours get changed.”

“What, here? Now?” Ondolemar said, cursing as he realised how breathless he sounded.

“Nothing I've not seen before, I promise you,” he smirked, as did all his Forsworn friends. “But we can give you all some privacy. We'll be waiting up the passage for you.”

So saying, he withdrew, leaving three Altmer staring at outfits that could barely be described as clothing, consisting mostly of scraps of fur, feathers and bone. But it was either wear this or go back to Markarth and take their chances with the Nords. 

Ondolemar found himself feeling not quite as heroic as he'd previously thought. At least the Forsworn weren't Talos-worshippers. Reaching for a set of the armour, he stripped his robes off and left his Thalmor life behind him.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

He'd been not terribly surprised to find more Forsworn waiting at the exit, but positively concerned to see his guards being escorted off in different directions, about five Forsworn warriors each accompanying them.

“You're separating us?” Ondolemar gasped, suddenly feeling very alone.

“Afraid so,” the Forsworn leader, who Ondolemar had found out was called Uraccen ap Uailon, said, almost seeming apologetic. “Three Altmer together seen with the Forsworn looks suspicious. Whereas three separate groups, each with only one Altmer, is a little less obvious. Also we think the Stormcloaks know we've got a female Altmer in our ranks, we're hoping they'll think your guards are her if they see them, so we're sending them across country. You on the other hand are going to be a little harder to explain away which is why we're not going far. But at least in that get up you won't be obviously a Justiciar. Come on, we need to get there before dawn. Sunrise is barely an hour away, and you've been up all night.”

That indeed was true, although no true-bred mer was ever going to admit to any such thing, certainly not to a human. A bed would be most welcome.

“Where are we going?” he asked, wincing as he heard how nervous he sounded. He was a Justiciar of the Thalmor, a true-bred example of superior mer breeding, there was no reason for him to be so nervous. Even if he was surrounded by armed and dangerous Forsworn humans... and everyone knew the Forsworn were likely to murder anyone who wasn't a Forsworn. And now they'd taken both his Thalmor robes and his guards away. Even Uaile was gone, saying goodbye to her father and promising to write before disappearing back to Markarth.

“You'll see when we get there,” Uraccen said with a smile, and despite his fears, there was something about that smile that reassured him. Something kind and friendly, as opposed to murderer (which he must be, the Forsworn killed people all the time, and he did not look like a green youth, none of this lot did).

“Are we going to a Forsworn camp?” Ondolemar asked, falling into line behind Uraccen as they moved off through the mountain pathways.

“Of course, where else would we hide you?” Uraccen said, amused, and Ondolemar actually whimpered. He'd heard all sorts of things about Forsworn camps, animal parts everywhere, body parts from their victims, hotbeds of cannibalism and necromancy, all run by Hagravens.

“Is there a Hagraven there?” Ondolemar whispered, hoping beyond hope the answer was no.

“No,” Uraccen replied, and the man was clearly just about managing not to laugh. “No, not any more. There used to be but, well, there was an unfortunate accident, she died and our First Matriarch doesn't presently have anyone suitable to replace her. Regrettable, to be sure, but I look after the place well enough for now. Come on, let's go. I'm forty-nine and not getting any younger. Far too old to be ranging all over the Druadachs all night, I know that much.”

Forty-nine? Barely of age in Altmer terms, but about middle-aged to a human. Ondolemar was rather pleased with himself for knowing that. So many Altmer still got confused about human ages. At least Thalmor training had prepared him for life among humans, although there was very little on the Forsworn specifically. Still, humans were humans, right? It couldn't be that hard to fit in.

~~~~~~~~~ 

The camp in question turned out to be a vast Nordic ruin not far from Markarth. The Forsworn had well and truly settled in, building tents everywhere, inhabiting the inside areas and making them livable, pitching tents and stockading all over the outside, Spriggan heads and goats heads all over the place. No kind of civilised place for a well-bred mer, and the people were as wild as their surroundings, barely dressed in their fur and bone armour... and as one they'd all stopped to stare at him as if they'd never seen an elf before.

It was possible they hadn't. At least, not to talk to anyway, the Forsworn had killed their fair share of Thalmor, Ondolemar knew that. Feeling a little self-conscious in his own Forsworn gear, Ondolemar shifted closer to Uraccen, not meeting any of their gazes. For the adults this worked. For the children... not so much.

There were about eight of them, ranging in size from small to tiny. All wide-eyed, all whispering, all dressed in furs and staring unashamedly. Then the calling out started.

“They've got an elf! An elf!”

“Is he staying here? Is he a guest?”

“Is he a prisoner? Have we got a prisoner? Can we tease him like we did the last one?” That last from one of the bigger boys who was grinning at Ondolemar all too viciously for his liking, and really what sort of culture involved their kids in the torture sessions? The Thalmor weren't gentle on heretics, Ondolemar knew that, but there was never any question of children or innocent civilians being involved. 

“He's a guest, henai bach,” Uraccen laughed. “We don't dress prisoners like one of us, do we? No, he did a favour for the Brenin once so we're returning it by protecting him from the Nords. He's made a few enemies among the Stormcloaks.”

That brought smiles to all the children's faces.

“Don't you worry, sir, we'll look after him!” one of the bigger girls said cheerfully.

“Yeah, we won't let any Nords get their hands on him,” the boy who'd previously been keen on a torture session said gleefully, cracking his knuckles. “You can count on us.”

“Glad to hear it,” Uraccen called back. “Now if you don't mind, our guest is tired and needs his rest. Why don't you go tell your families you saw an elf today?”

The children dispersed to do exactly that, a good portion of the warriors with them did the same and soon it was just Uraccen and Ondolemar making their way up to the very top of the camp, where a ruined tower overshadowed everything. The tower seemed habitable enough inside, and Uraccen led Ondolemar up to where the top opened out onto an open grassy area with some sort of altar and a strange stone wall curving at the end. There was one large tent here, with two piles of straw and fur in it.

“This is it?” Ondolemar asked, shivering at the thought of sharing a tent with some human. It had been a while since he'd last slept in a tent, and that had been during the war in a Thalmor army camp... but that had been rather more luxurious than this. On the other hand, at least the beds weren't stone.

“This is it,” Uraccen confirmed. “I thought you might appreciate a little privacy – not an easy thing to come by on one of our camps, but it's quieter up here. You won't be bothered by the children asking questions... or the adults. Forsworn are insatiably curious and despite prior relations with the Thalmor, they love elves. You can expect to be rather popular among the camp's people, Justiciar.”

“Dressed like this? Hardly a Justiciar any more,” Ondolemar said, gesturing at the fur clinging to his body. Uraccen did laugh at that.

“Ondolemar then. We've not had time to get you your own tent yet but we're working on it. I hope sharing with me for a few days won't be a problem?”

He raised his eyebrow, faint smile on his face, amusement in his strange golden eyes and Ondolemar shivered. Something about those eyes got to him. Something about lying awake next to another person, not a colleague or a subordinate sharing dormitory space, but a complete unknown and one who had this effect on him... it scared him. A Thalmor Justiciar should not be afraid of mere humans... but he was alone with them and they weren't Talos-worshipping heretics. No, these were heretics of a very different stamp... and nothing in Thalmor training had ever prepared him for this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Are you really in the Thalmor?”

“Do you really hunt Talos-worshippers?”

“Did you kill them?”

“Did you torture them?”

“We've killed lots of them too!”

“Shut up, Geraint, you've never killed anyone, you're eight.”

“I've seen them kill prisoners!” 

“It's not the same! You have to do it yourself or it doesn't count!”

“Well maybe when I'm sixteen, I'll do one!”

Ondolemar sat quietly under the juniper tree, watching in a bit of a daze as the Forsworn children squabbled amongst themselves. He'd not expected children. He had no idea what to do about children. Altmer didn't really spend a lot of time around children – their long lives meant there weren't many. More than there used to be – the Thalmor had encouraged more births than before and it wasn't uncommon for families to have as many as three children in as many centuries these days. But in Altmer society, you just didn't see very many children, if any, and by the time children were allowed to socialise outside their family, they were usually sufficiently well-bred to be indistinguishable from small adults.

Forsworn parenting seemed to consist of getting one's child out of bed, dressed, washed and fed in the morning then kicking anyone older than four out into the camp to get on with it. He'd seen lessons of sorts, children being sat down to learn how to read and write, or trained in the basics of magic or weaponskills, but mostly they seemed to learn by copying the adults – a child who wanted to know something would typically just walk up and start talking to an adult with the skill and ask about it and get shown things. Or they'd just start a conversation anyway. Or there'd be a whole pack of them ambushing you, either wanting you to play with them or constantly bombarding you with questions. Ondolemar honestly had no idea how to deal with them. Small humans with parents who'd no doubt object if he gave them the usual brusque shut-down, and avoiding them was proving tricky.

Mercifully Ondolemar wasn't left on his own for long. A shadow over him and then Uraccen was there, smiling at the children.

“Children, I hope you're not harassing our guest.”

Vigorous shaking of the head from all concerned. 

“Oh no sir!”

“Never, sir!”

“We wanted to know what it was like in the Thalmor!”

Uraccen rolled his eyes.

“From what I hear, it involves making oneself very unpopular with the Nords and occasionally having to get tough with them, so not that different to being one of the Forsworn,” Uraccen sighed. “Now. In about five minutes from now, Duach will be giving a display of Destruction magic up on the balcony. Anyone wanting to learn about shock magic should be heading up there.”

That had them all running, scrambling over each other as they raced for the steps, all eager to learn some magic. Uraccen settled down next to him, not seeming to notice the way Ondolemar shifted as he did so. Honestly, he was a two hundred and twenty year old mer, he shouldn't be reacting this way to a human. 

“Sorry about that, they've never seen an elf before. Not to talk to anyway,” Uraccen said calmly. “I hope they weren't bothering you. I daresay you don't meet many children in the Thalmor.”

“Elves don't have children very often,” Ondolemar said hesitantly. “Certainly we never see so many at once – I didn't know the Forsworn had children on their camps?”

“We have young men and women here and none of us have anywhere else to go that isn't another Forsworn camp. Of course children happen, of course we raise them here, where else would they go?” Uraccen said, amused. “We have well-rehearsed evacuation plans for non-combatants when the Nords show up, but these camps aren't just military bases, they're our homes. I didn't grow up on one myself, I was raised in Markarth, but I came out to join up in my early twenties, met my wife on a camp, Uaile was born and raised in one camp or another. Maybe Uaile looks after Nepos in Markarth now, maybe my wife died years ago, but these places always feel like home, more so than anywhere else. Don't let the intimidating appearance and fearsome reputation fool you, these places are usually peaceful settlements. Well-defended, but peaceful. Even the ones with Matriarchs. Perhaps especially the ones with Matriarchs.” 

Ondolemar decided not to press the point, not wanting to get any nearer one of the dreaded Hagravens than he had to.

“How long am I staying here?” Ondolemar said quietly, picking at the grass. Not that Uraccen was wrong – for the most part the camp seemed peaceful. But it wasn't home for him. Not with all the pale skins and rounded ears everywhere.

“Until it's safe for us to move you,” Uraccen said, smiling a little as lightning began to flash from the upper tier of the ruin, one big flash then a few little ones as some of the older children started practising. “Which probably won't be until after the Empire get the Reach back. I'm sorry, Ondolemar.”

“But that could be weeks or months!” Ondolemar gasped as it sank in. “What if the Stormcloaks win, what if the Empire never reclaims this land?”

Uraccen went quiet for a bit, as if he knew something Ondolemar didn't. When he finally spoke, he seemed almost nervous.

“One way or another, it will happen. There's plans afoot, Ondolemar. Our king is not pleased about the Silver-Bloods having taken over, but Nepos survived, Uaile is fine, no one is being purged this time, not yet.” He turned and looked at Ondolemar, smiling. “This land is not the Empire's nor the Stormcloaks. It is ours and we will have it back. We have them pinned in their city, we already make it unsafe for them to leave freely. One day, maybe one day soon, we'll have the city too, and then this land will be ours in truth.”

“You had it and lost it once before,” Ondolemar said without thinking, then belatedly realised perhaps this was a sore point. But Uraccen didn't seem bothered, just shrugging. 

“Maybe this time we'll keep it. Who knows?”

Who knew indeed. Ondolemar knew the history, knew how the Thalmor had played both sides, encouraging Madanach the time was right to revolt and take his land back and that in the forthcoming war, he'd have his chance and that the Aldmeri Dominion would look very kindly on a Thalmor-friendly non-Talos worshipping client state who'd not fought them. He also knew that the Thalmor had encouraged Ulfric as well after the war, persuading him the Thalmor might look the other way if certain promises were made and that no one benefited from a loose thunderbolt like Madanach in charge of anywhere. Because Madanach, in the wake of the White-Gold Concordat, had made overtures to the Empire and the last thing the Dominion needed was the Reach as a Forsworn-run Imperial province. Frankly, Ondolemar wasn't even sure him just being here wasn't an act of treason. He certainly wasn't sure why the Forsworn had decided to rescue him and offer sanctuary. 

“Why save me?” Ondolemar asked. “I know you people attack the Thalmor as fiercely as anyone else. You don't see us as allies, I know that.”

“The Thalmor aren't,” Uraccen said, eyes narrowing as he glanced at Ondolemar. “The Thalmor see all humans as tools at best and we were fools to ever think otherwise. Oh don't think we don't know, Ondolemar. One line in a purloined dossier told us that. But you're not a Thalmor, not now anyway. You did the king a service and so you get to live. If I were you, I would stop asking questions and enjoy the opportunity to keep breathing.”

Did the king a service, well that could only mean Madanach, recently escaped and out there somewhere on another camp probably not unlike this one. Ondolemar couldn't think how he'd helped and then it struck him.

“Wait. Madanach's in love with an Altmer??” He looked up at Uraccen, who was starting to grin.

“Yes!” Uraccen laughed. “Utterly smitten. Absolutely adores her. Or at least he did until she brokered a ceasefire and gave the Reach to the Stormcloaks, but I think he might even forgive her that in time.”

Brokered a ceasefire... Altmer female... known to have associated with the King in Rags himself at least once...

“He's in love with Liriel??” Ondolemar snapped, seething as he tried to imagine the idea of some dangerous Forsworn warrior on top of a beautiful young true-bred mer like Liriel and Liriel actually enjoying it. Uraccen nodded, eyes dancing in delight and Ondolemar fought the urge to burn things. He knew Liriel, or knew her family anyway, knew her mother was a high-ranking Justiciar and her father a very wealthy man. How Liriel had ended up in Skyrim and her parents not even seeming to know their daughter was here, never mind her being a penniless adventurer who'd somehow got rich doing it, Ondolemar didn't know. But she was well-bred and beautiful and charming and Ondolemar had had secret hopes she might be amenable to courtship one day. Not really his type sexually, but her connections were worth cultivating and he was sure he'd be able to consummate the marriage enough to sire a child or two, do his duty to the race and all that... and now here she was involved with a human??

The thought made him want to burn things, not least because part of him was furious that the true-born daughter of a good family got to follow her heart and he never could. 

“He is,” Uraccen laughed. “I saw them together at his base, they're a lovely couple. Or they were, at least. Not sure what they are to each other now. Hope you're not offended.”

The droll tone in Uraccen's voice made it quite clear that Uraccen ap Uailon really couldn't care less if Ondolemar was offended or not, but was too polite to say so.

“Liriel... and a human... Mara's mercy, he must be in his fifties at least! What could she possibly see in him? He's not even in power!” Ondolemar really couldn't think of any other reason for a beautiful Altmer to go after some scruffy human. Despite the man next to him making him want to do all sorts of inappropriate things.

“A question we all ask ourselves on a regular basis,” Uraccen said, smirking. “He must be very good in bed, that's all I can think.”

Ondolemar really wished he hadn't said the word bed, because now he couldn't stop thinking about what Uraccen was like in bed. He'd already seen the man walking around with his top off, a few faint sprinkles of chest hair but otherwise nothing but smooth muscles under skin with a few wrinkles but if Ondolemar was honest, they only intrigued him more. He'd seen his fair share of young men, of fellow Altmer in their prime in various army camps and Thalmor gym changing rooms, and after a while they all started to look the same. But an older one, a human one at that... He shouldn't. He definitely definitely shouldn't want to. 

But he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Henai bach - little children  
> Inyeen - daughter


	2. Covert Entertainment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual smut here! Also warnings for attempted sexual harassment but it gets dealt with.

“Hey Justiciar.”

“How are you doing, Justiciar?”

“Can we help you with anything, Justiciar?”

Ondolemar had just about got used to the children. They were easy enough to deal with once you realised they were just curious and meant no real harm. A few stories of whipping heretics in to line, a few demonstrations of Destruction magic, a few simple lessons in casting Oakflesh or Ice Spike and they were quite happy; in fact the attention was rather endearing. Not often a mer got a gaggle of adoring admirers following him around after all.

The older gaggle of admirers was rather less endearing. About five of them, all young Forsworn girls just on the cusp of adulthood, all wearing that revealing fur getup and all very intent on getting to know him better. 

“I'm quite all right,” Ondolemar said through gritted teeth. He'd just gone down to the river to bathe, that was all, and when he'd returned, he'd found this lot sitting around by the redoubt's entrance, all smirking at him. “Er, thank you. You may go now.”

A chorus of oohs from all of them, and he could swear they were laughing at him.

“Ooh, get him,” the tallest laughed. “He sounds so fancy, doesn't he?” She slipped off the rock she'd been perched on and sauntered over, grinning up at him, one hand on her hip.

“Do you always sound that fancy, Justiciar? Or are there times your standards... slip?” She'd placed a hand on his chest and Ondolemar gasped, taking a swift step back, and now one of the others had joined her.

“I heard that Altmer save themselves for marriage,” she purred. “That unless they're married or betrothed, all the Altmer out there are completely untouched.”

Which was mostly true, but not always, and Ondolemar had a few memories of sweaty, undignified encounters with a series of young Bosmer men, always hushed up afterwards, paid to go away, nothing impugning his reputation as a mer of meticulous breeding, eligible for a match with a young Altmer girl of impeccable background to serve the race with. But nevertheless, the memories were there.

“This is hardly any of your business,” Ondolemar snapped but the girls weren't intimidated.

“He's uninitiated! How delightful!” the leader laughed. “Well now, Justiciar, did you want to get your rites with any of us? We're all very pleased to help out.”

“Did you want to play Thalmor and Heretic with us?” another girl cooed. “We don't mind being... interrogated.”

The way they were all looking at him was not how Thalmor suspects usually behaved towards Justiciars, in fact Ondolemar was this close to fleeing back to Markarth and taking his chances with the Nords. At least they probably weren't going to rape him.

“We've been very bad girls,” the leader purred, placing her hands on his shoulders before reaching out to take his and place it on her backside.

Lightning flashed out across a cloudless sky and the girl looked up, dropping Ondolemar like a stone and standing back guiltily. And there was Uraccen, thank the Eight, Uraccen, top on for once, making his way down the path... and he looked furious.

“Am I interrupting something?” Uraccen said, his voice sounding like it could curdle milk. “Please, don't let me stop you.”

Ondolemar couldn't help but look pathetically grateful for the rescue and Uraccen gave him the faintest hint of a smile before turning angrily on the girls.

“Am I to infer you were harassing our guest?”

“We were just talking...”

“We had questions about the Thalmor!”

“That is not what it looked like,” Uraccen hissed. “Sithis's sake, it's usually the boys who have to be sat down and given the consent talk! As it is, you ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Barely past your initiations, if you actually are, because clearly you weren't ready. Go back to camp, all of you, and leave our guest alone. He's not here to initiate the camp's younglings.”

Pouting and glares, but no one actually disobeyed. 

“Yes, Uraccen. Sorry, Uraccen,” the girls muttered before slinking off back to the camp, a few hopeful glances being cast his way but the actual attention diverted at least.

“Thank you,” Ondolemar whispered, realising he was actually shaking all over.

“Don't mention it,” Uraccen said gently. “Are you all right?”

Ondolemar wasn't sure but he nodded anyway, and Uraccen just took him by the arm and led him away.

“Tent,” Uraccen said quietly. “You can have a rest there, yes?”

That sounded like a very good idea. Sticking close to Uraccen's side, Ondolemar followed after.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Ondolemar had his own tent now, pitched across from Uraccen's by the Word Wall. A blessing in some respects... but awfully lonely. He'd got used to the sounds of Uraccen breathing in his sleep or turning in his straw pile. It was reassuring in a way. Everything else had fallen apart, his entire previous life had vanished into haze. But ever since he'd got here, Uraccen had been nothing but supportive. Understanding. Kind, even.

Humans were very rarely kind to anyone who wore a Thalmor's robes.

“You don't have to do this,” Ondolemar said, gratefully allowing himself to be led over to his straw pile and settled down.

“I think I do,” Uraccen said, still that same gentle smile. “Here. Have some of this. Not too much, mind, you're not used to it.”

He passed Ondolemar a wooden flask with what looked like a bone cap. Ondolemar regarded it suspiciously.

“What is it?”

“Jenever. We make it from juniper berries mostly, crushed potatoes, bit of nightshade to give it a kick. We don't normally give it to outsiders but you look like you could do with some.”

The illegal yet potent juniper liqueur the Forsworn were said to brew. And here he was being offered some. It was a testament to his nerves that Ondolemar had no scruples about opening the flask, taking a swig and passing it back. It tasted sweet... and then the aftertaste kicked in. Sharp, strong and Ondolemar shuddered as the liquid went down. No wonder Uraccen hadn't wanted him to have too much. He passed the flask back and lay down, feeling tired all of a sudden.

Uraccen took a swig himself and lay down alongside him, head resting on one had.

“I'm told you people don't give yourselves lightly,” Uraccen said quietly. “That you tend to wait for serious relationships. If I'm right, it was you yourself who told Nepos that. I guess it must be a shock coming here. You should be aware we're not all willing to go with absolutely anyone who asks – many of us are in stable relationships, and most of those are actually monogamous couples, believe it or not. It's just our younger people have always been willing to experiment. I'm sorry you had to be on the receiving end of all that.”

“It's fine,” Ondolemar said quietly. Something in him, maybe fuelled by the jenever, made him feel a little reckless. Or maybe it was just having Uraccen there. Or having been lonely for a very long time. Or just not wanting to feel like the odd one out on a camp full of sexually experienced humans. “If you must know... I'm not... untouched.”

“No?” Uraccen asked, eyebrow raised. “Is there someone back in the Dominion? Or... did there use to be?”

“Not exactly,” Ondolemar admitted. “I mean, I've never been with a woman, or a fellow Altmer. I've got standards to uphold, I need to be free of entanglements so I don't endanger my chances of a good marriage. But away from home...”

“You've had a few lovers then. Or perhaps lover is too strong a word. Encounters, perhaps?” Uraccen asked, curious. Ondolemar nodded, staring at the roof of the tent.

“Bosmer men, mostly, the odd Dunmer. Just now and then. If I'm feeling lonely. It's not something I do often, you understand. Just... I'm not completely untouched, that's all.”

“I understand.” Ondolemar had the feeling Uraccen was laughing to himself. “So, you prefer men then. Don't worry, I'm not judging. Just asking. I know not everywhere's as accepting of same-sex couples as we are. I have a feeling Alinor might be one of them – Liriel seemed a bit surprised to know that was actually a thing that happened, although I'm also beginning to think she's had a very sheltered upbringing.”

“Her mother's a Justiciar, a noted war hero, and her father owns half the Summerset Isles,” Ondolemar said stiffly, not really wanting to think of Liriel right now. “She's from excellent family, and what exactly she's doing out here is a mystery. Other than killing dragons and bedding unsuitable Reachmen and quite ruining her marriage chances.”

“If her father's that rich, I'm sure she'll find someone,” Uraccen said, a little tersely for Ondolemar's liking. “But you were telling me about Alinor.”

“What about it?” Ondolemar asked.

“The Thalmor run it,” Uraccen said. “It's warm, it's beautiful, it's accepting of magic, they don't worship Talos but they do venerate Anu in his Auriel aspect. But it's repressive in a way we've never been. I hear the Thalmor are trying to get the birth rate up, which usually means marrying young to a fellow Altmer of the opposite sex and breeding faster than would be usual for your kind. If you prefer your own sex... I can see that might be a problem.”

“Oh you'd be amazed at how people are willing to look the other way,” Ondolemar sighed. “As long as you set out to find a trueborn Altmer to breed with eventually, the Thalmor are prepared to tolerate a certain amount of covert entertainment.”

“Covert entertainment!” Uraccen laughed, eyes sparkling as he took another sip of jenever. “Never heard it called that before! You people never cease to amaze me. Well, if you want to covertly entertain anyone on this camp, you go right ahead. Madanach got himself an elven beauty and now half the Reach wants one.”

“Hardly a beauty,” Ondolemar scoffed. “I'm a Justiciar, not a society debutante.”

“Well I think you are,” Uraccen said carelessly, knocking back more jenever. “You can covertly entertain me any time.”

A pause as Uraccen belatedly realised that was not the best thing to say to a lonely, somewhat less experienced and certainly more uptight Thalmor Justiciar, and Ondolemar's brain went into a quiet state of panic as he realised the object of his lust had just invited him to consummate it.

There was absolutely nothing good that could come of this. The Thalmor might tolerate secret dalliances with lesser mer, or even beastkin, but humans?? The inferior attempts to copy Ehlnofey perfection? No true Altmer went with one of them, and Ondolemar was deeply ashamed to even contemplate the idea of Uraccen writhing beneath him.

But those gorgeous yellow eyes couldn't help but draw him, and he wanted to know what stocky human limbs felt when they wrapped themselves round him, and he wanted to know what a human cock felt like against his lips and what sort of noises a human man made when he came... and he could only blame loneliness, sexual frustration and the jenever for what happened next.

He took the flask off Uraccen, downed some more jenever, put the flask to one side and reached out to him, taking his face in his hands, feeling stubble under his fingers, skin rougher than a mer's, smelling muskier too, but Ondolemar didn't care, in fact it just added to the attraction. He pulled Uraccen to him, lips meeting his as Uraccen's mouth opened beneath his, arms going around him and pulling him closer and Ondolemar let himself fall backwards onto the straw, Uraccen on top of him.

Uraccen pulled off the top of his Forsworn gear, stripped off the gauntlets and leaned down, face inches from Ondolemar's own.

“Dibella's tits, Ondolemar, I never thought you'd actually say yes!” Uraccen laughed. Then he tilted his head, frowning. “This is a yes, isn't it? I can stop or leave if you prefer.”

“No,” Ondolemar said before he could stop himself. “I mean, don't go. I mean, could you kiss me again? I liked that...”

Uraccen laughed and obliged and soon there weren't words any more, just Ondolemar rutting up against Uraccen, hard and needy and feeling Uraccen's cock against his and wanting more, needing it, craving someone's touch, anyone's...

Uraccen stopped, but it was only to start fingering Ondolemar's own clothes.

“You should get naked if you really want to go ahead with this,” Uraccen murmured and Ondolemar nodded enthusiastically, shedding clothes before belatedly realising this meant he was now naked and on display for Uraccen to see. Red stained golden cheeks and went right down to his chest and something flared in Uraccen's eyes, some kind of appreciation?

“You really are superiorly bred,” Uraccen murmured, echoing Ondolemar's own turn of phrase in another life. Then he was unfastening his kilt and loincloth and letting them fall to one side and Ondolemar got his first look at a naked human. More hair, especially on the limbs. And between the legs as well, all of it silvery and not like looking at a mer, in fact a lot of Altmer men, Ondolemar included, usually shaved theirs off. All of it very much more animalistic than any mer, and Ondolemar couldn't help but want more of it. Especially that cock jutting out and it was wider than a mer's although about the same lengthwise.

“Are you going to fuck me?” Ondolemar asked, mind filled with images of that cock inside him, stretching him out, filling him, utterly utterly ruining him for anyone or anything else and Mara's mercy, he was doomed.

“Not today,” Uraccen said calmly, lowering himself on top of Ondolemar and nuzzling at his neck. “Now. Where's a good place to touch you? I've heard the ears are quite sensitive.”

Ondolemar did not want to know where he'd heard that from, in fact he could probably guess and definitely didn't want to know any more about that than he could help. 

“Neck and shoulders,” Ondolemar whispered. Uraccen smiled and began to nibble, and Ondolemar closed his eyes, the rest of the world fading away and nothing mattering except that Uraccen was touching him and kissing him and then Uraccen's hand was going to his cock and Ondolemar could no longer think at all.

It was gentle, all so very gentle and not what Ondolemar needed, he needed it hard, rough, needed to be used and it made him embarrassed to admit it, how did you even talk about these things? But he did manage to whisper 'harder' and somehow Uraccen got the message.

When Ondolemar finally came, he was being pinned down while Uraccen frotted against him, helpless and writhing and he'd never been the submissive partner before, he'd always been the one in charge as a true Thalmor should be. And here he was with a human pinning him down and he was loving it. 

“Like this?” Uraccen gasped, eyes never leaving his face. Ondolemar nodded.

“Please,” he whispered. “Please more.”

Uraccen just smiled, leaning closer, breathing in his ear.

“I bet you've wanted this for years, haven't you? All those years with no one, not able to let go, be who you really are, admit what you actually want, which is to be used, fucked and made to submit by someone you always thought was inferior. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?”

Ondolemar felt blood staining his cheeks again as he nodded. Uraccen whispered one last thing into Ondolemar's ear before he bit the point, words that had Ondolemar screaming as he couldn't hold back any longer.

“Congratulations, cariad. You got your wish.”

Ondolemar came, arching up into Uraccen, who sped up, thrusting against him, clearly not far from his own orgasm now, and when it finally hit, Ondolemar trembled as warm fluid not his own spilled over him.

He clung on to Uraccen, trembling all over, and it took him a moment to realise he was crying. Uraccen was using a spare fur to clean them both up, and then he was lying back alongside him, wiping the tears away.

“Are you all right?” Uraccen asked gently. “Should I be worried?”

“I don't know,” Ondolemar whispered, realising he truly had no idea, not about this, not about anything. He'd enjoyed that. He shouldn't have enjoyed that, no true Thalmor would want to submit to one of the lesser races. He shouldn't want it again. Couldn't, if he ever wanted to go home.

Maybe he didn't want to go home. But it was home, Alinor was beautiful, he missed it constantly! He was a Justiciar of the Thalmor, his place was with his people, waging war on Talos and associating with his fellow mer.

Except he was beginning to realise that for all they were true-bred mer, he didn't actually like a lot of his fellow Thalmor. And none of them had ever bothered to ask if he was all right.

“Should I leave?” Uraccen asked quietly. That brought tears back to Ondolemar's eyes again.

“No,” he whispered. Uraccen nestled in alongside him, arms around him and cuddling him, and literally no one had cuddled Ondolemar since he was a boy, no one.

“How's this?” Uraccen asked gently and Ondolemar nestled against him, clinging on to him, realising he'd forgotten what it felt like to have someone actually care about him, someone who loved him, and that terrified him as much as it thrilled. How was he supposed to go back to the Thalmor now? Just pretend it never happened, or think of it as some dalliance with some human who'd be dead in a few years?

The mere thought broke his heart.

“Don't leave me,” Ondolemar whispered. Uraccen tightened his grip, kissing his forehead and lightly running his fingers over the dark fuzz on Ondolemar's normally shaved scalp.

“I won't,” Uraccen promised. “Old gods help me, I won't.”

Ondolemar clung on to him, feeling pathetically grateful for having him there, and despite being on a Forsworn camp with no other Altmer in sight, he felt safer in Uraccen's arms than he'd done for years.


	3. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning after and these things are always a little awkward. Still more so when one of them's a Thalmor adjusting to the idea of getting involved with someone he's been raised to think of as lesser.

When Ondolemar finally woke, the sun was just rising and he swore he could smell bacon.

Sure enough, Uraccen was sitting by their private campfire, hair down, top off, cooking breakfast – bacon, eggs, various herbs, garlic and by Auriel it smelt wonderful.

Ondolemar wasn't really sure how this was going to go – were they going to talk about yesterday? Was it going to happen again? Ondolemar really needed to tell the man that he was one of the Aedra's Chosen People, he could hardly form an association with one of the lesser races, could he?

Of course not... but the thought depressed him. He'd been at peace with the idea of a loveless, dutiful marriage where he got his sexual needs met elsewhere... but now the idea was tearing at his heart. He'd liked the sex. It had been what he needed. And afterwards he'd felt loved. Safe. Protected. Wanted.

Except it was just impossible. He'd have to turn Uraccen down, he knew. But he could have breakfast first at least. 

So the two men exchanged pleasantries and ate breakfast in silence, and neither one discussed the fact that last night, one had pinned the other down and got him off before spilling his own seed all over him. At least, not until Ondolemar put his plate down and Uraccen stopped, took a sip of his tea and turned to face him.

“Something on your mind, my friend? You look... troubled. Is it to do with last night by any chance?”

“I...” Ondolemar couldn't do it. He couldn't tell Uraccen it had to stop. Because he didn't want it to. Not really. Not yet. Maybe just let things continue until he had to leave. That might work. “Look, I need to go home. Well, maybe not just yet, but eventually. I'm not a Forsworn, I'm a Thalmor. We both know I don't belong here.”

“But you could,” Uraccen said quietly, glancing up at him, a certain intensity in his eyes. “If you wanted to.”

No no no, he didn't want to, he belonged in the gilded halls of Alinor with his kinfolk, drinking fine wine and eating fine food with a beautiful Altmer woman on his arm and their children playing while the guests arrived (and if he'd end up in the arms of some Bosmer manservant in secret later on, that was just attending to a necessary bodily function). He did not belong on a camp patched together from juniper wood and leather, full of half-dressed human savages and dead things on pikes.

He did not belong with Uraccen ap Uailon in any way shape or form. Even if he wanted to. It was just impossible.

“Look, you're human. I'm a mer. There cannot be anything between us. It's simply not possible.”

“It wasn't last night, or was that a shared hallucination?” Uraccen asked, sounding a little snide. “Jenever's not that strong, Ondolemar.”

Ondolemar felt his patience running out. Damn the man, why couldn't the stubborn human just leave him alone?

“It was a mistake!” Ondolemar cried. “I should never have... look, it was just a coupling, that's all. I've had others like it, may do again, maybe you will too. But it shouldn't have happened. It's not going to happen again.”

Uraccen's eyes narrowed and he got to his feet, snatching up weapons, armour top and his backpack.

“Fine,” he snapped. “You don't want it to be more than it is, then it won't be. I can do that.” He made his way to the stairs, pausing only to shoot one look over his shoulder. “But what I really can't stand? When people pretend it's less than it is.”

Uraccen stormed off, leaving Ondolemar alone by the fire. Well. That hadn't gone well. But he'd got what he wanted, hadn't he? Uraccen would leave him alone now. That was what he'd wanted, wasn't it?

It was. It just made him feel horrible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

It was evening before he saw Uraccen again. Ondolemar had cleaned the dishes, then the campsite, then gone for a bath himself, then busied himself tidying the tower up, quietly helped out with laundry, entertained the children for an hour or so and finally had a quiet dinner by himself and gone back to his tent.

It felt so empty on his own. And Ondolemar missed Uraccen, wanted the company, wanted someone to talk to... wanted Uraccen. Wanted to know why he'd joined the Forsworn, what his wife had been like, had he loved her, been faithful, why only one child, were there others, had she known he liked men. 

So many questions. And he'd never get to ask them now.

It was quite dark when he heard Uraccen return, moving quietly but the little candlelight giving him away somewhat. Ondolemar caught his breath, especially when the footsteps stopped outside his tent and Ondolemar swore Uraccen was watching him. But then they moved away, and Ondolemar had never felt so bereft.

 _I don't even know why I want him still._ But he knew why. Beautiful amber eyes, soft silvery hair, strong, firm limbs... and Uraccen had been kind. Welcoming even. He hadn't had to be but he'd gone out of his way to be generous. And now Ondolemar had just ruined it all.

He stayed there for a while, for what felt like an hour but was actually barely ten minutes, just listening to Uraccen turn in, then silence. Just the sound of the man's breathing.

Ondolemar couldn't stop thinking about what that breathing would sound like in the same tent, wrapped in each other's arms and Uraccen dozing alongside him. It wasn't even the sex that appealed... just being able to cuddle would be nice.

So Ondolemar crept quietly out of bed and sat at the entrance to the other tent, just about able to see Uraccen's silhouette in the shadows, and for a few moments, Ondolemar was something close to happy.

“Do you need something, Ondolemar?” Weary sigh, and Ondolemar felt his face burn as he realised Uraccen wasn't asleep.

“Oh. I, er... I heard you come in and...” Ondolemar trailed off, not really able to put this in words, and honestly, the only words coming to mind were _I missed you and listening to you breathe was helping but I didn't want you to know!_

“For Sithis' sake,” Uraccen swore, casting a magelight and sitting up, glaring at Ondolemar. “You were feeling lonely, were you? Horny? Bored? Tough. Go and cast some muffle spells and wank like the rest of us. If true-bred Altmer are allowed to do that, of course.” 

Well, it wasn't banned or anything but no well-bred Altmer would use such terms or even talk about it. Ondolemar could feel his blush deepening, and Uraccen looked at him, sighed and let his shoulders fall, the anger fading away.

“Look, I've been thinking. We can probably get you to safety. It's a bit of a risk, and it's going to take a bit of manpower, but I can spare some soldiers for a bit, just enough to get you to the border. Then you can have your robes back, and just possibly a hidden escort as far as Dragon Bridge. I presume you can make it back to the Embassy by yourself from there?”

Of course he could but...

“You're sending me away?” Ondolemar whispered, feeling his heart snap in two and a little voice in the back of his head wailing.

“Giving you the chance to leave,” Uraccen sighed. “I'm not keeping you here against your will. We're not... look, you're not a prisoner. So if you want to go home, I'll make arrangements. We know all the mountain paths, all the back roads. Stormcloaks will never find us.”

“Oh,” Ondolemar whispered. He could go home and that was a surprise, but the bigger surprise was that the idea didn't appeal in the slightest, in fact the thought of going back to the Embassy, donning the robes and going back to rooting out heretics made him vaguely ill. Here, he was free. Few if any responsibilities other than routine camp chores, no Ambassador breathing down the back of his neck... and Uraccen in the next tent looking sinfully seductive.

“What's the matter?” Uraccen asked, sounding a little confused. “I thought you'd be desperate to get out of here.”

Ondolemar slowly shook his head and Uraccen edged closer, frowning at him.

“Ondolemar?” Uraccen said, voice softening. “Is everything all right?” That gentle voice coming back, comfort in a world that didn't usually offer much, and Ondolemar found that as far as the Thalmor were concerned, they could all get stuffed. He wanted Uraccen there to look after him and if that meant turning his back on Alinor for a few decades, so be it. And that realisation, that Uraccen was mortal, human, frail by comparison, would be lucky to see out the next forty years and certainly no more than that, actually helped. Because Ondolemar had seen plenty of death, combat and war, had fought in the last one, he knew how fleeting life could be. Sometimes you just had to seize happiness, or at least pleasure, where you found it. Uraccen wouldn't live forever. Ondolemar could spare a few decades out of hunting Talos worshippers and spend them with him. He could always go back to the Thalmor afterwards.

So he leaned forwards and took Uraccen's face in his hands and kissed him and for a few brief seconds Uraccen was kissing him back and all was right with the world... and then Ondolemar found himself rudely shoved away.

“ _No,_ ” Uraccen snapped, glaring at him. “I mean, seriously... no, you do not get to turn me down in the daylight and come crawling back to my tent at night, what do you take me for?”

Ondolemar's despair must have shown on his face because Uraccen seemed to relent, glare turning into mere sadness.

“I'm sorry,” Ondolemar whispered, and Uraccen nodded, crawling out of the tent to sit next to him.

“So am I,” Uraccen said, sounding genuinely grieved. “But if you think I'm going to be like those Bosmer servants you used to fool around with, think again. I won't be your night-time secret, Ondolemar. I'm not insisting you take me to a party at the Embassy and introduce me to the Ambassador or anything, but you need to be willing to acknowledge me as a lover among the Forsworn at least. Be honest with me and with yourself if nothing else, Ondolemar.”

After the last party at the Embassy, where Razelan had got drunk and made a fool of himself, Liriel had turned up briefly then vanished, and then Elenwen had gone back to her office to find bodies everywhere, some of her most confidential documents gone and a prisoner liberated, Ondolemar had a feeling Elenwen wouldn't be hosting very many more of those for some time. But he took Uraccen's point.

“I'm not asking you to marry me or anything,” Ondolemar said stiffly. “But... well... I enjoyed your company. And I... find I missed it. Look, you're human, I'm mer, you'll likely be dead in forty years or so and I'll still be relatively young. But that just means I've got time, all the time in the world, and if I take a leave of absence for a few decades, I'm sure the Thalmor can manage without me and it's not like they won't be there when I get back, is it?”

Uraccen stared at him, his face shadowed in the moonlight, and then he started to laugh, chuckling to himself.

“What?” Ondolemar asked, puzzled and a bit worried, no, scratch that, very worried. “What's so funny?”

Uraccen looked away, giggling uncontrollably and while this was probably better than seething anger, it wasn't exactly what he'd hoped for.

“Nothing,” Uraccen managed to get out. “Only... the age difference... you're OK with it! Because it means you can go back to the Thalmor and deny everything after – oh that's marvellous! Do you think they'll believe you?”

“I'll think of something,” Ondolemar sighed. “I'll tell them you bewitched me with some arcane Reach-magic or something. I still don't understand why you're laughing.”

Uraccen dried his eyes, grinning up at Ondolemar, moonlight playing across his skin and quite honestly Ondolemar wondered why he'd never done this before, had a lover outside. With his hair down and top off and a carefree grin on his face, Uraccen looked like some wild nature spirit, free and untamed and the opposite of everything the Thalmor were.

“Because when the subject came up between Madanach and Liriel, Liriel cried her eyes out as if it was the worst thing she could consider happening. She was already in mourning and he's not even dead. And here you are, just fine with it!” Uraccen laughed, clearly finding this highly amusing. “I should be offended, I really should. How dare you not be bewailing your fate and pining over me.”

“I only just met you!” Ondolemar pointed out. “I'm not going to fall in love with you just like that. Give me some credit. I'll be wanting courtship for a start.” Not that he was going to fall in love with some human, certainly not. But he wasn't going to fall in love with anyone unless flowers and poetry and long walks in the moonlight were in the offing. 

“Courtship, eh?” Uraccen said thoughtfully. “Well, I'll think about organising something. In the mean time, I don't have a problem being your youthful rebellious fling. I don't greatly care what you do in the centuries after I'm dead.”

Which was a bit uncomfortable to contemplate if Ondolemar was honest but it wasn't like Uraccen was about to expire in front of him, was it? Might as well live in the now, right? And the now was presently offering a long-haired topless Reachman smiling at him in the half-light.

“I'm not rebelling,” Ondolemar told him. “I'm just taking a leave of absence until the war dies down. And if that war goes on for longer than expected, well, I will just have to live with it.”

“And if it finishes a lot sooner?” Uraccen asked, and there it was again, the hint that he knew something Ondolemar didn't, some secret about the war. “What then?”

“We'll have to see, won't we?” Ondolemar said, shrugging. “Depends who wins for a start. If the Stormcloaks win, I could be stuck here for _years._ ”

“And if it's the Empire?” Uraccen asked, moving closer, very intense look in his eyes. “What then?”

What then indeed. Ondolemar suspected he'd be summoned home... but only if the Embassy knew how to find him.

“Well obviously you people have made yourselves very unpopular over the years,” Ondolemar said, thinking quickly. “You're clearly up to no good and hiding something, and if a Talos-worshipper wished to hide where no one would think to look, it's with you people. All that business about hating the Nords and Talos is just a front. You're really working hand in glove with the Nords and it's therefore my solemn duty as a Justiciar to investigate.”

“You're going to take a leave of absence rooting out Talos worship amongst the Forsworn,” Uraccen said, grinning from ear to ear at this point. Ondolemar felt himself cracking a smile in response, seeing Uraccen move back to the straw pile, stretching out and seeming to invite him to move closer.

“Oh yes,” Ondolemar said, feeling brave, feeling reckless, feeling ridiculous, but happy, so very happy. “And I'm not leaving until I've found some evidence.”

Outright laughter from Uraccen. “You'd better start investigating immediately then,” Uraccen purred, leaning back and opening his entire body up as Ondolemar crept closer, leaning on top of him.

“I better had,” Ondolemar grinned, leaning down to nibble Uraccen's earlobe. “I think you're holding out on me, Uraccen. What do I have to do to get you to open up, hmm?” Ondolemar's teeth closed on Uraccen's skin and the Reachman moaned, arms reaching up for him.

“Keep doing that and I'm all yours,” Uraccen whispered. Ondolemar smiled and kissed him and soon all thoughts of the outside world were gone from both men.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Ondolemar on top this time and this was a bit more like it, pinning Uraccen down and thrusting against him, mouth barely leaving his skin, teeth nipping his flesh and Uraccen holding on to him and moaning. 

Except it was nothing like previous experiences, because this wasn't anonymous, wasn't Ondolemar closing his eyes and fucking, not caring who his partner was and not caring. Ondolemar was drinking him in, unable to stop staring, smelling, tasting, wanting, Uraccen facing him instead of bent over or face down in pillows, there because he wanted to be, they both wanted to be.

“Oil in the satchel over there,” Uraccen whispered, and Ondolemar scrambled to find it, fingers fumbling with the vial as he moved to coat his fingers, then slid them down to between Uraccen's legs.

Uraccen's moans practically undid him but he kept control, lubing the Reachman up and then finally sliding inside him, loving the way Uraccen arched his back and moved to let him in, gasping his name and occasionally uttering invocations to old Reach gods. They fucked swiftly, roughly, but with plenty of tenderness too and this time it was Uraccen's seed spilling over Ondolemar, while the elf came inside Uraccen. 

Afterwards they lay in each other's arms, Ondolemar with his head on Uraccen's chest while the Reachman held him tight.

“Thank you,” Ondolemar whispered.

“Thank _you,_ ” Uraccen murmured, lips brushing the fuzz on Ondolemar's scalp. “You're rather good at that.”

Ondolemar smiled faintly and nestled in closer. “I try. So are you, by the way – have you been with a man before? You seem to know what you're doing.”

“Yes, I had a few encounters in Cidhna Mine,” Uraccen said sleepily. “And I wasn't a stranger to it going in either. Bisexuality's really very common among the Forsworn, in fact it's barely noteworthy.”

“Did your wife know?” Ondolemar had to ask. Uraccen grinned and nodded.

“Yes, of course. Sorla had had a few female lovers in the past, we both knew what we were getting into. May I take it it's strictly men for you?”

“Yes,” Ondolemar admitted, after a brief pause during which he tried to imagine breasts and a vagina and failing to feel remotely aroused by any of it, and reluctantly admitted he wouldn't know what to do with a woman if presented with one. “I suppose I'll have to marry a woman eventually, but I'm trying to put it off... Believe it or not, I was thinking of asking Liriel. She's of good family after all. Although I don't think that's going to happen now, is it?”

Silence and Ondolemar looked up to see Uraccen staring horrified at him.

“Uraccen?” Ondolemar asked, starting to feel rather nervous. “Look, I don't actually find her that attractive, it was just to reproduce...”

“Ondolemar,” Uraccen said firmly. “Do not ever speak of marriage to Liriel again. She's spoken for... well, she might as well be. Himself will not take it well if you start nosing around, and I don't want to watch him execute you in a jealous rage.”

 _Let him try,_ was Ondolemar's first thought. But Uraccen was loyal to his king after all, and Ondolemar supposed Madanach's fearsome reputation had to be justified in part.

“Would you miss me then?” Ondolemar said, nuzzling Uraccen's cheek. Uraccen scowled and nodded.

“Insufferable Elf. Yes. Yes I would. That enough for you?”

Something in Ondolemar liked that. Something in him really liked that. He'd never been one for Mara worship, and he wasn't some naive youngling who believed marriage was about true love forever rather than an arrangement to preserve property and ensure the continuation of the race. But the thought of someone caring what happened to him, of someone wanting to protect him and take care of him, of having someone there when he woke up to wish him good morning and have breakfast with him... that appealed. That really did. 

To have it be a silver-haired Reachman human in primitive furs who worshipped strange gods and was quite happy living on a mountainside camp built into an Ancient Nord ruin with goats heads on pikes everywhere was unexpected. But not unwelcome.

 _I must be going mad._ It must be something in the food or the water or the air that made sensible mer completely lose their senses and go running off into the wilds to cavort with unsuitable Reachmen. First Liriel, now him. He wondered if he'd ever see her again to talk to her about it. He hoped so. He liked her company. Maybe he'd like it all the more now he knew he could give up all hopes of marrying the woman.

In the mean time, if this was madness, he could stand to have more of it.


End file.
